Hello again

Hello,

I wanted to check in with all 20 or so of my lovely and loyal subscribers, as it has been roughly two weeks since I last posted. I hope the world has only treated you with the utmost kindness and, if not, then I hope it has some in store.

As for me, I just celebrated my 26th birthday — it’s not quite anything to marvel at just yet, but it does mean I am officially over a quarter of the way to 100. As for my absence, I can attribute it to many things, none of which are likely sufficient to provide an excuse. However, if you’ll allow me to try…

The past week has been nothing but birthday celebrations. The period between this birthday and my last was probably more comparable to a segment from Dante’s Inferno than anything else. Nonetheless, I made it through and the past six months of my life have been filled with joy and solace amongst many changes. Queue my favorite quote from Celine Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire: “In the solitude, I felt the liberty you speak of. But I also felt your absence.”

I’ve also dedicated quite a bit of myself to literature in the past two weeks. When I first moved to San Pedro, I had just wrapped up White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky. If you read one of my more recent posts, you’ll know I then started The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

I won’t skip by indulging in the former — it was one of the best books I have ever read, and I found its language, in particular, to be incomparable. Of the many (non-damaging) adhesive note tabs I placed in the book, one clings itself oh-so-dearly to my favorite excerpt. First: a close second is “For eight days now we have had the most terrible weather, and it does my heart good, because since I have been here we have not had a nice day that was not spoiled for me by someone.”

I love a bit of cynicism. But top honors have to go to the following.

The full force of his words rained down upon the unfortunate man. In his despair he threw himself on his knees before Lotte, took her hand, pressed it to his eyes, his forehead, and a hint of the terrible thing he was planning seemed to brush Lotte’s soul. She became confused and pressed his hand tightly against her breast and, with a plaintive motion, moved closer to him. Their burning cheeks touched, and the world ended for them.

Talk about a forbidden love! Romeo and Juliet this, Cleopatra and Mark Antony that, all pale in comparison to what he portrayed between Werther and Lotte. This story touched me, and his reflections even more so. Goethe was inspired by the affairs of a young man he was once familiar with, and even threw in a bit of his own experiences.

More recently, I began The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. Apparently, the best translation is that of Robin Buss, as other versions are abridged to suit societal norms upon their initial publication. Or, so I read. It’s a brilliant book and I cannot put it down, even if it stares at me when my stack of paperback classics grows in the corner. Do not worry, Dumas, I will not abandon you so soon.

Such escapades have led me to start my own little story, which remains off of Substack and will only see the light of day if it is printed and bound. Even so, I still have a long way to go until that point and, in all honesty, may never finish the thing. We shall see!

So, please forgive me for my absence. I know you all aren’t checking your emails every day, wearing out your thumbs from refreshing the page, awaiting a notification that reads “New Post from The Hopeless Dissident.” Still, I’d rather be courteous than ignore the matter altogether.

A note: I have also been working quite a bit at my real job at the Los Angeles Times. Ignore the Hollywood headlines and dive straight into the features. Coming up: some great interviews and even better reading.

As always,